


Flow of the Tide

by Airanke



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Multi, OC backstory, WoW OC drabbles, World of Warcraft - Freeform, World of Warcraft: Battle for Azeroth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:15:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26710498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Airanke/pseuds/Airanke
Summary: Life is an ocean, and like the waves, people will ebb and flow with the tide - and when they crash into each other, they will be forever changed.
Kudos: 2





	1. Somber (Ollwen & Daphdrenira)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!! I wanted to post some stories on here about my Wyrmrest Accord characters! They are used largely for Roleplaying purposes in World of Warcraft, but I have story beats and other events that occur in writing like this. I thought it would be fun to post it so that anyone else can read about them and get more insight into the characters that they might not get otherwise ; w ; A lot of these drabbles will bounce around on the timeline of events I have set up for the characters as they met and such, but I'll be sure to note when the events take place alongside each other! (Amita Dakini will also appear in this story, but this one follows WoW's canon timeline - for the most part - and IS separate from Lascivious Ophidian, which I consider to be Amita's true canon).
> 
> This chapter focuses primarily on Ollwen Summerscribe, and Daphdrenira. In the timeline, "Somber" occurs one week after Teldrassil was burned, and before the Battle for Darkshore was in full swing.

Ollwen hadn’t always been hyper aware of her surroundings.

Becoming an Archmage of the Kirin Tor had drilled that need for awareness into her. It had saved her life numerous times when she had encountered the Legion.

It served her now, as she was staring mindlessly up at the darkened sky above Darkshore.

Someone was stalking her. Pure malice sent an unnerving shiver down her spine, and she exhaled shakily;

“I know you’re there.”

Daphdrenira tightened his grip on his dagger, pressing his back against the tree. The night elf’s voice carried easily to him, and the nervous shake was not lost to his trained ear. Still, that she had noticed him only caused him to become more agitated:

_ ‘Shit.’ _

“Beautiful night, isn’t it?”

This caught him off-guard. His grip on his dagger lessened, and he scowled around the tree at the figure sitting on a downed tree trunk. The area overlooked the ocean; he knew it led to a decently sized cliff. Falling would prove fatal.

If she was going to throw him off by striking up a conversation, perhaps Daphdrenira could throw her off in kind by speaking Darnassian;

“If you say so.”

He watched her intently. She visibly stiffened.

“... you have the slightest inflection,” she noted expertly. Daphdrenira sucked in a slight breath, making an irritated sound, “and your malice also betrays you. You’re here for the Horde?”

He said nothing in response. She continued speaking, as if bothered by the silence, “do you know why  _ I’m _ here?”

“To fight,” he offered bluntly, renewing his tight grip on his weapons. She’d come here alone, unarmored, and sat without a care of what might happen to her. Easy prey, as far as the rogue was concerned.

Her laugh was a soft twinkle, “one would assume.”

Again, Daphdrenira’s grip on his weapon loosened, this time in confusion. What the hell did she mean by that?

“Explain.”

“How demanding!” and the way she said it on a louder laugh agitated him more than anything else.

Ollwen found that his presence shifted to be behind her. Cold, sharp steel pressed against her throat. His chest was firm against her back - it forced her to straighten out of her relaxed posture. A rogue then. She knew of their uncanny ability to shift seamlessly through the shadows. He must have emerged from hers.

“I won’t ask again,” he said in warning, his voice low. Ollwen pressed her lips into a thin line.

“Because I have regrets.”

The pressure against her throat lessened. From his size alone she could make an educated guess that he was a troll, even if his very,  _ very _ slight accent should have been more of an indication than how he practically enveloped her in his rage.

“I’m not here to fight. I never was. Fighting isn’t my strong suit,” Ollwen elaborated in the hopes that continuing to converse with him would slowly chip away at whatever resolve he had to kill her, “I regret... not helping.”

“Helping what.”

“The evacuation.”

Here his arms actually drew away from her somewhat, bringing the pressure of his blades fully away from her throat. She could sense his disbelief, even if he had not voiced it.

“You participated in the War of Thorns?” Ollwen ventured, ears flicking in the silence.

“Of course I did. I have a personal vendetta against you  _ fuckin’ elves,” _ he spat, bringing one blade back to press against her skin. Ollwen swallowed nervously. She had flinched at the vindication with which he spoke.

“I didn’t.”

“You  _ didn’t _ .”

“Is it wrong for me to be selfish?” she asked quietly, abhorred with herself that of all people,  _ this _ man was going to be the first person she expressed her guilt to, “was it... wrong for me to value my grandparents over everyone else?”

Here, his blades drew away entirely. The knowledge that his resolve was ever wavering made Ollwen hopeful. Perhaps fortune was with her? Was her stalker so determined to kill her because he was more inclined to empathy? She could certainly pick up on the undulation in his emotions. Stone cold malice had become a willingness to listen. The two sides warred with each other.

Being an archmage of her calibre  _ certainly _ had its perks.

“... I can’t fuckin’ answer that question,” he growled, and as much as Ollwen desperately wanted to turn to face him, she refrained. His malice had renewed, and this time, rage screamed just beneath the surface. Fear finally began to claw its way up Ollwen’s throat. It took  _ everything _ she had learned with the Kirin Tor to keep her magic under control,  _ ‘if I release a shock of magic right now, there will be no reasoning with him. He will kill me.’ _

“I think you can.”

“You can think whatever you  _ want _ , elf.”

“Ollwen.”

She sensed him falter. His presence behind her shifted, and she solidified her introduction, turning her head just enough to catch sight of his arm, “Ollwen Summerscribe, Archmage of the Kirin Tor.”

Oh, he  _ seethed _ , he absolutely seethed. It was clear that he, like many other in the Horde, bound themselves to a particular honor, which meant--

“Daphdrenira, Shadowblade of the Uncrowned.”

\-- he  _ had _ to introduce himself to her, even if he spoke through clenched teeth, as if Ollwen had backed him into some unseen corner.

“Would you answer my question, Daphdrenira?” she asked, turning her head more. She caught a glimpse of red and black armor, and flashes of green skin; difficult to denote the hue correctly in the light of Elune’s black moon, though Ollwen believed her assumption to be correct.

His weight was then bumping against the trunk, and he practically slumped against it in defeat. Ollwen released the breath she was holding; her body shook. Daphdrenira’s expression was twisted in fury, his eyes focused on the treeline.

While Ollwen may not have to be so cautious in Darkshore, he certainly had to be. Night elves patrolled up and down the beach, and Ollwen had wandered up to this cliff because hardly anyone passed by here.

“What do you want me to fuckin’ say?”

“Was it selfish of me to value my grandparents over everyone else?”

“Obviously,” he growled - but for the briefest moment, Ollwen watched his expression soften, “but I would have done the same, so I can’t really fault you for that, can I?”

She clutched a hand over her chest, fisting it in the fabric of her dress, denying the desire to cry. She could not show such emotional weakness to someone who raged.

“Why aren’t you wearing armor.”

A soft laugh escaped her, “you make demands, rather than asking questions… I don’t know. I didn’t feel like wearing my armor.”

“It’s fuckin’ dangerous out here, Ollwen,” he snapped, then scowled at the ground as if annoyed that he was displaying concern for her wellbeing. Ollwen didn’t comment on it.

Still, the silence bothered her, and she tentatively started up conversation again, “I’m rather lucky.”

“Why, because I didn’t follow through?”

“Yes and no. I’m more so lucky because I didn’t have an outburst,” she gestured to herself, “when I’m under stress, I tend to let off powerful pulses of magic against my will - even after training extensively under skilled teachers,  _ and _ becoming an archmage, it is still something I struggle to fully control. I’m lucky that my mounting fear didn’t get high enough for me to have an outburst with you nearby. That would have been the end of me.”

Daphdrenira was silent. His gaze was on her though, looking her over. She dug her fingers into the tree trunk,  _ ‘I’m not safe. He’s huge compared to me. I am small and frail, and the most I can do is blink away. That would do little in the face of a shadowstep.’ _

“But I am also lucky that you didn’t follow through.”

He growled, still holding his silence. Ollwen scooted closer to him, and instantly had his full attention. His gaze was fierce.

“Perhaps that’s because I can sense that you’re the empathetic sort,” she said, watching him intently. His eyes widened in shock, confirming her suspicion, “and I thought that if I tried to have a conversation with you, I would whittle away at your intent to kill me.”

“I don’t expect anythin’ less from an  _ archmage _ ,” he snarled, baring his teeth at her. Ollwen recoiled in fright - as much as she didn’t want to give him the impression that she was a scared little doe that could be easily taken advantage of.

Before she could pursue more conversation, his ear flicked, and his attention was drawn away.

Rather suddenly she found herself being jerked off the log, and his hand was over her mouth, preventing her from yelping in surprise. Fear caused a spike in her stress. Even if Ollwen had known she wasn’t safe, she had still allowed herself to become complacent with Daphdrenira’s more docile behavior.

“Get down,” he instructed, voice low, “just-- here.”

She blushed furiously. Apparently, Daphdrenira’s idea of ‘get down’ was to position her between his legs, cross said legs over her, and cross his arms over her head. She was forced to lean fully back against his chest.

“Make yourself invisible.”

“Daphdrenira, I--”

“ **_Now_ ** _ , _ Ollwen. _ ” _

Her will to argue dissipated, and she cast invisibility. The heat that had risen to her cheeks faded within seconds of acknowledging that his tone of voice belied that danger was nearby, and now he was going out of his way to protect her. In this position, and given his size, it was easy for him to look natural leaning against the trunk with his legs crossed. Uncomfortable for her, yes, but Ollwen decided that she could tolerate the discomfort if it meant getting out of the coming encounter alive.

Horde soldiers emerged from the treeline, looking around intently, weapons gripped between their hands. Daphdrenira - to Ollwen’s confusion - greeted them coldly in Orcish.

One of them - a goblin - appeared to recognize the troll. A casual conversation was struck up while the orc and tauren meandered closer. The orc was obviously sniffing the air, and Ollwen resisted the urge to press herself further against Daphdrenira. That would cause a disturbance in his armor, and would betray that he was hiding something.

“I smell an elf,” the orc mused, casting a sideways glance at Daphdrenira. The troll whipped out one of his daggers and thrust it into the wood, bloodied.

“Dat so? You be a bit late den,” he said cooly, gesturing to his weapon, then gesturing over his shoulder toward the cliff, “missed out on de fun.”

“But I smell it most strongly near  _ you _ ,” the orc pressed, boldly moving closer. Daphdrenira chuckled lowly, shaking his head.

“Riiiight. Demure lil’ elf, big fuckin’ troll. You be takin’ a  _ wild guess, _ mon.”

The tauren’s face wrinkled in distaste while the orc and goblin sputtered out laughter, while anger boiled in Daphdrenira’s veins. The things he could get away with…

_ ‘The sooner I make them leave, the better.’ _

“Serves ‘em right,” the goblin scoffed, “thought we heard some people speakin’ Darnassian. Kinda’ disappointed we missed a show.”

Daphdrenira disguised his snarl with a harsh laugh, “sure, sure. You be assumin’ I wouldna’ turned on  _ you _ next.”

The goblin visibly flinched, “well, uh, Mr Shadowblade, yer reputation? Precedes ya.”

“Great ta know - now fuck off if you be knowin’ wat’s good fah you.”

He released a snort when the three quickly went on their way. None of them had even bothered to look over the cliff to see if there was a body.

With the adrenaline fading, of course, he released a hiss at the stinging pain in his arm. The cover of darkness worked so well when one had to quickly make it seem like they had caused someone physical harm moments earlier.

Daphdrenira uncrossed his legs, and arms, and sat more upright. Ollwen’s weight was heavy against him, and her form shimmered back into visibility. Her hands then fisted tightly in the fabric of his legguards. Annoyed, he tsked.

“I just need a moment, please,” she whispered; Daphdrenira clenched his jaw. Her hands were shaking.

With a sigh, he easily reached forward to gently pry her fingers away from his pants, “you’re fine.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re fine.”

She released him after that, and carefully got to her feet. He instinctively grabbed her hips when she nearly fell to the side, and steadied her.

_ ‘Fucking look at yourself. Fuck you and your fucking empathy,’ _ Daphdrenira closed his eyes tightly against the thought. He hated the moments when who he  _ could _ have been shone through who he was.

He removed his hands from her, and inspected his arm instead. His armor could be mended with a few stitches, and the cut had already closed.

“... I didn’t realize you actually cut yourself,” Ollwen noted in disbeleif, her bright eyes focused on his blade, “that um… thank you.”

“Whatever,” he said curtly, grabbing his blade and wiping it off on the grass, “now get the fuck out of here before they come back.”

“How did you--”

“Played it off like I raped you and threw you off the fuckin’ cliff,” he snapped. Her ears flicked back, expression one of disgust, and he sneered, “yeah, you’d be fuckin’ surprised how often a troll can use that excuse for shit, and get away with it. They didn’t even  _ check  _ for a body.”

“The goblin recognized you,” she pointed out, then stammered over her next words when Daphdrenira swiftly rose to his feet, and towered over her, “b-but I w-will… I will go.”

“Before I change my fucking mind, Ollwen.”

Her smile was uncanny, “you won’t.”

The rogue could only stare at her as she cast her spell, and then disappeared in a flash of light.


	2. Guilt (Ollwen & Draphdrenira)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter focuses primarily on Ollwen Summerscribe, and Daphdrenira. In the timeline, "Guilt" occurs 4 weeks after their encounter in "Somber".

Dalaran was Daphdrenira’s least favorite city. Too many people, too many watching eyes, _too much of everything_.

He’d escaped to the Hall of Shadows about midday, and gotten piss drunk with Jorach, Vanessa, and Tethys. Valeera was _so_ unimpressed, and Daphdrenira dissolved to raucous laughter watching the poor elf try to make Tethys drink blackrock coffee to sober up the man.

Then, of course, it was Tethys’ turn to laugh when Valeera turned her vibrant eyes on Daphdrenira. The most of a fight Daph put up was swatting at Valeera’s hand before she pushed him roughly back against his seat and stood over him. Good to know the blood elf still knew how to have her way with the large troll.

Now, Daphdrenira raked his hand through his hair. He’d ditched his armor in favor of appearing more inconspicuous at the Legerdemain Lounge, which was surprisingly busy at this time of… morning.

His tongue ran over his teeth. He sat alone at the counter, absently tipping his shot glass from side to side. There was still a small amount of liquid in it, though the liquor itself had been hardly enough to give him a buzz.

Annoyance crossed his features when a clearly feminine body pressed into his arm, and not a body he was familiar with.

“Oh, love!”

The voice, however, he recognized. Scowling, he glanced to his right to see none other than Ollwen pressing herself against his shoulder. Her lips were smiling, but her eyes were distressed. Daphdrenira let his gaze shift right as another night elf came up behind her. He was angry, and grabbed Ollwen’s arm roughly. Her entire expression shifted to fear.

Daphdrenira immediately stood, towering over both elves. Patrons nearby were startled by his sudden movement, cutting off their conversation briefly. He grabbed Ollwen by the shoulder and jerked her in front of him, raising his left arm with the intent to backhand the other man.

Thankfully, the night elven man released Ollwen’s wrist in favor of lurching back and out of Daphdrenira’s reach. The rogue set him with a fierce glower, and pointed at the nearest door to the lounge.

“Turn around and walk your ass _right_ out that door,” he growled, pulling Ollwen further to the right. He watched the other man until he finally left, and sat back down on the barstool. The orc next to him clapped his hand to Daphdrenira’s shoulder a couple of times, and conversation returned to normal.

Ollwen, like she had before, fisted her hand in Daphdrenira’s loose pants.

“Sorry,” she whispered, clutching her other hand to her chest, “I just need a moment.”

He let her be, and found a beer to be placed wordlessly in front of him. His brows rose in curiosity, and he looked down the bar to see a burly draenei give him a small salute. The troll tipped the mug in the man’s direction, and turned his attention back to Ollwen.

She released a heavy breath, and this time, Daphdrenira didn’t have to loosen her hand from his pants.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re fine,” he confirmed, taking a swig of his drink, “the fuck was that?”

Her expression darkened, “oh… nothing. I think I’ll be fine. Um… thank you.”

He watched her with narrowed eyes, and _nearly_ let her leave. Nearly.

The troll shook his head, grabbed her around the waist, and lifted her up with ease to set her on his leg. She blushed furiously, fisting her hand in his shirt this time.

“Daphdrenira, what--”

“He’s still outside,” he interrupted, making the slightest gesture with his hand as he took another sip of his beer, “probably knows that I’m not ‘love’.”

Ollwen’s blush deepened when he looked at her out of the corner of his eye, and her ears flicked down; it seemed she did not like having to resort to a lie to get herself out of an unsavory situation.

“Probably also knew that you’d leave quickly after that too,” he continued, letting both arms rest against the counter. It boxed her in, sure, but she was also a mage, and she could teleport or blink away if she so desired, _‘archmage. Ain’t nothin’ to sniff at.’_

She sighed, and remained rigidly seated on his thigh, “oh.”

“So?”

“So…?”

He made a gesture for her to elaborate. Ollwen sighed, letting her head hang low.

It had been a couple of months since the two had last spoken to each other. Ollwen had spotted Daphdrenira on the odd occasion in Dalaran, and once picked up on such unbridled fury from him that she had found herself going invisible and hiding in the nearby barber’s shop. Horde forces still prowled Darkshore as the territory bounced between red and blue, _‘I wonder if he’s been fighting for it still… but I don’t want to assume. He seems more mellow than when I met him,’_ she lifted her head to scrutinize his features; he raised a brow at her, _‘then again, a lot can happen in two months, can’t it?’_

She released his shirt, and smoothed her hands along her thighs instead, “he’s family.”

Daphdrenira snorted, “ _family_.”

“And also a mage.”

“Wow,” he took another swig of his drink, shaking his head after, “can’t even go to the Hall of the Guardians to escape him eh?”

Ollwen sighed, nodding her head, “precisely.”

Silence lapsed between them. Ollwen had not realized that, of all people she could have chosen to approach, it was _him_ , _‘I have not ever seen him out of his armor, in truth. He looks so… different.’_

She found herself absently running her fingers through his pale mint hair, then quickly jerked her hand back to fold in her lap, a blush skittering over her cheeks again. Daphdrenira was watching her with what she could only interpret as a perturbed expression.

“Sorry.”

“... yeah. The hell’s he mad at you about.”

A smile pulled at her lips, “I see that you still make demands.”

This coaxed a snort of amusement out of him, “demands get answers more often than questions do.”

“Why’d you speak Darnassian right away?” she inquired. He rolled his eyes.

“To let him know that if he tried to talk to _you_ in Darnassian, I would understand him.”

“Oh. He’s mad because I’m deliberately avoiding him.”

“And why in the _hell_ are you avoiding _family_?”

She flinched at his sharp tone, and the spike of pain in his emotions, _‘is… is his family not around anymore?’_

“We have our… differences,” she mumbled, toying with her fingers, “I’d rather not get into the details but… I’m sure you remember our conversation.”

“Starkly,” he said dryly, tipping the mug from side to side.

“Then let us say that it is related to said conversation, and leave it there.”

“Well look at that,” he mused, leaning toward her. A smirk tugged at his lips, and Ollwen pouted, “she can be assertive when she wants to be.”

“Obviously,” she said, brows pinching inward. She reached up to hook a finger around a tusk, curious to see how he’d react. His eyes glanced at her hand, but he made no other move - so she traced her finger along the tusk, keeping her eyes focused on what she was doing so she could look at his face without it being obvious.

Daphdrenira lowered his guard, for but a moment. His eyes fluttered, and a soft sigh left him - then he jerked his head back, scowling, and glared at the alcohol displayed across from them.

_‘Interesting.’_

“... is he still there?”

“Yeah.”

A frustrated sound left her, “Elune, why can’t he just _leave me be._ I already told him I’d rather not discuss things right now, but he won’t listen!”

“Can I get you something?”

This question caught her off guard, “oh! Uh… I-I -- if you want to.”

“Whattya like?”

Again, Ollwen fiddled with her fingers, “I’m… um. Not very… s-something weak.”

The chuckle that left him had her blushing again, and she pouted at her legs. He spoke in orcish to whoever was behind the counter, and she huffed in frustration.

“Asking for things I don’t know about?” she inquired, looking up at him suspiciously. He raised a brow, frown pulling at his mouth.

“Not that kind of man,” he replied stiffly, “I’d hang myself before I tried shit like that.”

Ollwen squirmed in discomfort for a moment, visions flickering through her mind to the time she had travelled through less savory territory of Azeroth. Bodies hung from nooses in the trees…

“Relax, lady.”

“You are much more mellow than I recall,” she noted, believing that now was the best time for her to go out on the limb. His expression darkened, and he refused to meet her gaze.

“We’re not on the battlefield, Ollwen,” there was warning in his tone, “I try to keep a low profile in cities.”

“Oh um… I see, “she tucked some hair behind her ear, eyes flicking to the counter as the barista set a tall flute of bubbling liquid there, “is this position not… uncomfortable for you?”

“Frankly, yes, _but,_ ” he half-bared his teeth at her when she went to move, “where the hell else you gonna’ sit? This place is crowded.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but Daphdrenira was holding the flute in front of her, “give that a go.”

Eyes narrowed, Ollwen brought the flute to her lips. It tasted delightful, like peaches, and burned just a tad as it slid down her throat.

“Hmm!” she smiled up at him brightly, “this is quite lovely.”

“Figured you’d like it,” he muttered, tapping his fingers against the counter. Ollwen sipped at her drink, looking around the lounge curiously.

Daphdrenira was not wrong in what he had said: had he not perched her on his thigh, she wasn’t sure she would have found any other place to sit. Horde and Alliance mingled in the room, and tensions were not as high as she thought they might be.

“I suppose the alcohol is to blame for that…”

The troll’s ear flicked at her words, and he looked down at her, “hm?”

“Oh! Sorry, thinking out loud. It’s much less tense in here than I would expect, given what has happened.”

Daphdrenira flinched, and quickly looked away, _‘fuck.’_

“Most of the people here had nothing to do with _that_ conflict,” he informed her, gesturing loosely around the lounge, “most of them were still here, helping the people of the Broken Isles.”

“And you…?”

“I was hand-picked,” he said, gauging her reaction. The news seemed to bother her, “I’m pretty sure you were on Darkshore that day for another reason aside from guilt.”

The archmage shook her head, and he leaned down so he could more easily look her in the eye.

“No?”

“No. I told you, Daphdrenira, I felt guilty.”

“Makes two of us then.”

If he could bite off his tongue, Daphdrenira would have. He couldn’t blame it on the alcohol either. Loa damn it. Her gaze was boring holes into his forehead.

“He’s gone, by the way,” the rogue mumbled, if only in hopes to distract her from the topic at hand. His attention was drawn to her when she placed a hand firmly against his chest.

“You _do_ realize I’m an archmage, right?”

“Yup.”

“And so you know trying to distract from the topic at hand is pointless, right?”

“Can’t fault me for tryin’.”

Her smile was too kind, “true, I can’t. Why don’t we go for a walk?”

Daphdrenira sighed - there was no getting out of this for him, it seemed;

“Fine.”

Ebomaya’s face flashed through his mind. He clenched his hand into a tight fist, hating himself for getting so soft.

_‘This is your fault, Connelly,’_ he wordlessly followed Ollwen out of the lounge after she had hopped off his lap, _‘this is all your gods damned fault.’_

But as the two wandered further from the Lounge, the more Daphdrenira’s blood began to boil. He lagged behind Ollwen until he had tunnel vision, and all he could see was her. His fingers twitched. Away from the others, and under the cover of the dark--

He shook his head; Ollwen had stopped, and was looking at him knowingly. She stood rigidly underneath one of Dalaran’s many street lamps, and Daphdrenira leaned against the nearest wall. They appraised each other: him in disdain, her in fear.

“Still think I’ve mellowed out?” he finally asked, twisting his fingers in the sleeve of his shirt. Ollwen slowly shook her head, as though she were unsure if that was the right answer.

“Then why help me.”

Daphdrenira almost smiled at the demanding tone. So she was taking a few pages out of his book. He supposed that was fair - but he looked away, and shrugged, adamant about not giving her an answer.

Again, Ebomaya’s face flickered through his mind. He had never thought about the repercussions of his rage before, but then Connelly had befriended him, and the shaman Araceli had hunted him down to find out _why_ . Why had he carried the half-dead night elf to an Alliance encampment, putting himself at such high risk, _especially_ when it was _him_ who had inflicted those injuries on her.

He hadn’t had an answer to Araceli then. He could have an answer for Ollwen now.

Daphdrenira still grieved.

It may have been Connelly’s fault that the troll had started to reconnect with his roots, but it was Daphdrenira’s fault the blood elf was gone.

_‘If only I had never stayed on Darkshore. Wouldn’t have lost him. Wouldn’t have met_ **_her_ ** _. Wouldn’t have had to risk turning around and facing everything I’ve done--’_

A sharp pain in his mind cut off his thoughts. He jolted, a snarl ripping up his throat. Ollwen jerked back, and though her body shook with fright at the sound, there was a determination in her eyes that had never been there before.

“What the _hell_ did you just do.”

_ <Made a connection.> _

His eyes widened. For a moment, their positions swapped; she was the one in power, and he was the one in fear.

_ <... oh hell fucking no. Get the fuck out of my head.> _

_ <Realistically speaking, I’m not in your head. I can’t read your mind, but I can speak to you no matter where you go on Azeroth,> _ her eyes narrowed at him, _ <something about you has changed. _ **_What_ ** _has changed - why did you help me. If you have so much hatred for me, then why not let my cousin drag me off. > _

Daphdrenira’s lip twitched in a sneer. He backed away, and Ollwen followed.

“You don’t _get_ to have those answers, Ollwen. Not after this,” he growled, pressing his hand against the wall, “you’ll fuck off if you know what’s good for you.”

Instead, she grabbed him by the belt with both hands, and teleported them to a different part of Dalaran. Ollwen knew it would disorient him. If he was unsure of where he was, he wouldn’t know where to run.

Perhaps it had been wrong for her to force a mental connection on him - but seeing the vulnerability in his posture and the sorrow in his expression caused a desire in Ollwen to _know_.

_ <I always had the impression that the man I met on Darkshore was not the man you are, not until you let go of that anger you seem to so stubbornly cling to,> _ she said to him, intending to throw him off again as he looked around the room in a panic.

It had the opposite effect.

The anger Ollwen mentioned spiked, and he brought both fists down on the nearest table, leaning his body toward her and splintering the wood.

_“After what_ **_your people_ ** _did to_ **_mine_ ** _I have every damn right to be angry!”_

Ollwen bumped into the table behind her and quickly maneuvered around it to keep Daphdrenira in her vision as he stalked toward her. She’d always thought that glowing eyes were reserved to elven peoples and mages, but Daphdrenira’s were vibrant in the dim light.

“My rage is fucking _justified._ ”

“ _Just_ because your rage is justified doesn’t mean you get to take it out on others!” Ollwen countered, her tattoos lighting up. Daphdrenira paused, watching her closely. His fury was undiluted, but his hesitance was telling.

A number of things had happened to him, she could see it. Why else would he admit, just moments earlier, that he felt guilty? He was bouncing between two different people.

“You think _I don’t know that!?”_ he grabbed the nearest object - a half-empty glass - and whipped it in her general direction. Ollwen yelped, ducking to the side, and the glass shattered against the wall, spilling the rest of its contents all over the floor, “I can tell _you’ve_ never been angry! You don’t _think_ when you’re angry! You just want vengeance!”

“Well this goes deeper than what my people did to yours!” she countered, doing what she could to keep a table between them as Daphdrenira finally reached her, “something else happened!”

It dawned on her then, upon seeing Daphdrenira’s angry snarl give way to startled realization. Silence fell between them.

“... you’re not a Darkspear,” Ollwen realized, her thoughts going to all the books she had read, about one small tribe in particular…

“ _That’s_ why you can speak Darnassian,” she said softly, and mostly to herself. Daphdrenira lurched away from the table and made his way toward the entryway. Ollwen stared after him blankly.

When he hopped up onto the railing, she snapped out of it.

“Daphdrenira wait--!!”

Of course he didn’t.

He jumped. A rush of wind behind him clued him in that Ollwen had blinked to get closer, but she was just short of grasping him.

Not that it would have done her any good.

The rogue dispersed into shadows, weaving through Greymane’s Enclave with ease. He reformed just outside it, startling the two worgen stationed there. He stalked forwardz, then turned half way and glared up at the closest spire. He could just barely make out Ollwen’s silhouette,

No matter. Whatever she had to say, he didn’t want to hear it.


End file.
